


Derek Hale: Cat Aficionado

by JoulesIsIronic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Derek + happiness, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:11:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesIsIronic/pseuds/JoulesIsIronic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The kitten looks up at him, beseechingly, and Derek recognizes his own terror and resignation in its innocent green eyes.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I can’t keep it," Derek calls, cradling the creature in one hand and stroking behind its ears with the other. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Stiles doesn’t look back as he heads out through the door. "Whatever you say, big guy," he calls over his shoulder.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The door slams shut.</em>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Or, in which Derek deserves happiness and it comes in the form of a kitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek Hale: Cat Aficionado

**Author's Note:**

> I thought Derek deserved to have nice things, so I gave him a kitten. Overabundance of fluff. Complete crack. I was pretty tired when I wrote it, so hopefully it's not entirely terrible.

The sound of a key turning in a lock is what wakes him up. For a moment, Derek blinks groggily at the ceiling of his loft, calculating his odds that it’s actually someone he likes. Not many people have a key to his place, but it probably wouldn’t be hard to get. He sighs, weighing the merits of actually clambering out of bed. It’s probably someone trying to kill him. Or torture him. Or emotionally manipulate him.

That tends to be the pattern in his life.

As the lock clicks open, he reluctantly slings his legs over the side of the bed, padding to the door with bare feet. He can hear noises on the other side as it starts to slide open, like a foot tapping anxiously, accompanied by two heartbeats pounding to different rhythms, one faster, more eccentric, the other also unusually fast, but relatively steady.

It’s Stiles. He isn’t sure why he’s surprised. The kid’s one of the few people with a legitimate key to the place. It was supposed to be for emergencies, of course, but judging by the teen’s look of surprise, he doubts that’s the case.

“Oh, hey, you’re home. That’s cool,” Stiles stammers, scratching at the back of his head with his free hand. The other one’s gripping the makeshift handle of a cardboard box, one with thumb-sized holes and the scrawled words _Beacon Hills Animal Clinic_ written across the side.

Derek’s eyes stay on the box. “Stiles.”

The box _mews_.

Stiles gulps, laughing nervously. “Uh, I can explain.”

“Please do.”

Although Derek’s bulk is blocking most of the entryway, Stiles manages to both sidle past him and shut the door, finding his way to Derek’s bed, where he places the carrier.

When Stiles turns to him, there’s a forced, toothy smile plastered on his face. “So, I, uh, got you a kitten! Surprise!”

Derek isn’t really sure how to process this. So he doesn’t. “No.”

The teen blinks at him, raising his eyebrows indignantly. “ _Yes_ ,” he says emphatically.

“No,” Derek repeats. “Why would you give me a kitten? What would I _do_ with a kitten?”

“Um, feed it, water it, it’s really not that hard,” Stiles lists impatiently, turning back towards the box.

Derek sighs, again, because this is not happening. “And what, exactly, were you going to do if I wasn’t here? Kittens kind of have a tendency to hide away for their first few days in a new place. What if I hadn’t realized it was here, huh? What if it had _starved_?”

Stiles’ head rears back sharply, a befuddled expression twisting his face. “I didn’t realize you were a resident kitty expert,” he mutters contemplatively. “Even better! Look, once you see this little guy’s face, you won’t be able to say no, okay? I figured, you know, you’re lonely, this kitten’s lonely, match made in heaven, and I thought, well, if I leave the kitten in Derek’s loft while he’s out, he’ll see it when he get’s back and it’ll be love at first sight. Also, you wouldn’t have been able to say no. Not that you have the option of saying no now, because you don’t.”

It’s too early for this. Derek spares a quick glance at his crappy, battery powered, analog clock. Jesus, it’s only ten a.m. Fuck him.

Tiredly, he rubs a hand over his face. “Why do you even _have_ a kitten, Stiles?”

“That, my friend, is a long, traumatizing story filled with sighs.”

Derek can hear the cardboard being peeled back. “Well, too bad. I’m not keeping it. Just take it back to where it came from.”

“Can’t do that,” Stiles sing-songs. Then he turns, and clutched in Stiles’ long, slender fingers is a writhing ball of black fur.

It squirms in Stiles’ grip, baby nails clawing at Stiles’ fingers, tiny teeth gnawing and nibbling at tender flesh. There’s a tiny, heart-shaped tuft of white fur on its head, and little mittens on all but one of its paws.

The kitten looks up at him, beseechingly, and Derek recognizes his own terror and resignation in its innocent green eyes.

“Oh,” is all he can manage as Stiles presses the ball of fur into his hands, which had somehow jumped from his sides to an open position in front of him without his consent. The kitten’s claws dig into his palms in its quest for stability. Then it lulls, relaxing, chewing his thumb.

Stiles nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Man, was I right or was I right?”

“I can’t keep it,” Derek calls, cradling the creature in one hand and stroking behind its ears with the other.

Stiles doesn’t look back as he heads out through the door. “Whatever you say, big guy,” he calls over his shoulder.

The door slams shut.

In his hands, the kitten mews, staring up at him as if gazing into the depths of his soul.

Then it pees.

***

For a while after Stiles leaves, Derek just stares at the kitten. His loft isn’t exactly the most secure location. He’s not sure exactly how many of the gaping holes in the walls lead to the outside world, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to actually call someone now to take care of it.

Another thing to thank Stiles for.

He doesn’t have any supplies, either. No cat litter, or food, or decent dishes for the water. He never really bothered before, with the whole stocking-up thing. Hadn’t thought he’d be staying in Beacon Hills long enough to need it, even when he’d been alpha and had been trying to build a pack. Deep down, he must have known it would never work out.

In his cupboard, he has two plates, a chipped bowl, and a plain white mug that says _#1 Dad_ , all of which he bought at a consignment shop a few days after he moved in. He fills up the bowl with some water and places it near the bed. Then he sifts through his fridge for something edible for cats.

There are exactly three items in his fridge: an old carton of Chinese food, a long-expired carton of milk, and a mostly-full bottle of ketchup. He sniffs the Chinese food experimentally, cringing at the whiff and shoving it back into the icebox, slamming the door shut.

Looks like he’ll need to go shopping. Exactly what he wanted to do today.

Across the room, the kitten topples the bowl to one side, spilling a good chunk of the water across the floor.

***

He goes to Walmart, since he doubts he can pick up all the things he needs for the cat at his go-to consignment shop, and he figures that they’re supposed to have everything, so at least he can get himself a new bowl while he’s at it. His first instinct is to skip the cart and gather everything he needs in his hands. He quickly realizes that his decision was a mistake.

It’s been ages since he’s gone on a bona fide shopping trip. That’s how he justifies it as he squeezes a vacuum under the basket. He’s already here, after all. Might as well make the most of it.

He ends up throwing in an entire dish set, since it’s not like he’s struggling for money. There’s a set of matching glasses that seem like they’d go nice, so he places them in, too. He also decides that some Tupperware would be wise, so that his food won’t go bad as quickly.

Housewares is right across from Electronics and there’s a nineteen inch flatscreen on rollback for ninety-nine dollars so he wedges it in next to the dish set. He hasn’t watched TV since he was back in New York with Laura and the thought churns his stomach, but he reasons that he’ll have to spend more time at home now because of the kitten and it might be hard to read as much if he has to play with the damn thing.

The Pets section is a train wreck and he goes a bit overboard. Derek remembers having pets as a kid, but it was just _so_ long ago. He grabs the basics first: cat litter, kitten chow, flea treatment, food dishes, _extra_ food dishes, a litter tray, and some wet food in case the kitten doesn’t like the dry food. There’s a large selection of collars and Derek spends an excessive amount of time picking one in the perfect shade of green to match the kitten’s eyes. Then he hits the toys.

A few scratching posts are a must, of course. There’s a toy fishing line, and some catnip squishy toys, some balls, and a few mice. He opts to avoid the ones that make obnoxious noises. He grabs a pink pop-out play box, since it’s the only color and he doubts his kitten has color preferences, and a long cylindrical tube for it to play in, too. One of the selections is a bit fancier than the others, this electronic contraption that is supposed to entertain the cat for hours, according to the box. Derek adds it to the cart, because at this point, what the hell.

It’s already overflowing a bit, but he grabs some food for himself while he’s at it since he’s already there. His bill comes to a bit over six hundred, but he figures at least two hundred of that is the vacuum and the TV, plus tax and everything. He’s perfectly happy to blame Stiles for all of this trouble, since he’s the idiot that forced the kitten on him in the first place.

When he gets home, he finds that the kitten had another accident, but he can’t blame it, since it didn’t have anywhere else to go. Just another thing that’s all Stiles’ fault.

***

He decides to call the kitten Charles, because it sounds dignified, and because he can call it Charlie for short. Derek still isn’t entirely certain on the sex, and he hasn’t felt like dealing with Deaton yet. The little thing is just so _fluffy_ that it’s hard to tell without giving the cat a really thorough look, and he just… doesn’t want to. It’s not something Derek’s too concerned about, anyway. He figures once he takes Charlie for its shots in a month, he can get a definitive answer.

The kitten learns how to use the kitty box pretty easily, much to Derek’s relief. It didn’t like the first batch of food he brought home, but on his second trip, Derek bought several different brands and flavors, and its favorite seems to be the Purina. Of the wet food, Charlie will only eat Fancy Feast and only beef in gravy.

Picky bastard.

With the cable hooked in, Derek can finally catch up on Downton Abbey. He keeps it on in the background as he waves the toy fishing rod around.

He absolutely does not smile when Charlie tangles itself in the string of the toy, staring up at him petulantly.

***

Scott stares at him when Derek places his kitty carrier on front desk. He’s upgraded since the lackluster box Stiles supplied. His new carrier is cushioned on the inside, so that Charlie can at least be comfortable during trips. The riding-in-cars bit terrifies it enough as it is. It doesn’t need to be any more distressed.

When Scott still hasn’t collected himself, Derek raises an eyebrow in what he hopes is an unimpressed expression.

“Do you mind getting Deaton so that he can open the door?” Derek gestures to the mountain ash boundary by the front that’s still latched shut. “I’d rather not waste my entire day here. I do have other things to do, you know.”

He doesn’t tell Scott that his afternoon plans involve a pet groomer and browsing the foreign films section of Netflix.

Scott blinks at him, eyes still focused on the carrier. “Is that a kitten? When did you…? _Why_ do you…? Wait a second.” The alpha takes a closer look into the carrier. “Is that…? _Stiles_.”

“You know my cat?”

Scott huffs, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I know your cat.”

“Care to elaborate?” Derek asks.

Scott just shakes his head. “Too traumatizing.”

Derek would very much like to understand what part of a kitten can be so traumatizing that not one, but _two,_ teenage boys have replied in the same way about its origin, but then Deaton’s there and he’s leading him to the back.

Charlie, he finds out, is female. She’s perfectly healthy. She squirms in Derek’s hands as Deaton gives her her twelve-week vaccinations and they make plans about getting her spayed. Scott watches him the entire time with amusement, scratching the kitten briefly under the chin. Charlie regards him with complete and utter disdain.

This makes Scott laugh. “Like cat like owner.”

Derek is tempted to disagree, to tell him that he’s always respected the young alpha, even when he was just a fresh-bitten beta. That Scott’s like a little brother to him. Pack. But that seems like too much. Instead, he watches Scott with an expression of detached indifference and sweeps from the room proudly.

***

He and Charlie settle into a routine.

At ten-thirty a.m., she rouses him for breakfast. For a few hours, she does her own cat thing while Derek does his own werewolf thing. She expects to be played with at least once in the afternoon, typically before dinner.

Derek takes care of her box before taking out the trash. In the evening, once Derek’s settled into bed after changing into one of his new pairs of soft pajama bottoms (bought on his last Walmart run), he throws on the TV for an hour or two and uses it for background noise while he waves Charlie’s fishing line toy around the room, tiring her out for bed.

She settles herself on his lap as he reads for another hour or two, and moves up higher onto his chest when it’s time to sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

When their schedule is disrupted by the supernatural, Charlie rebels.

He’s less than pleased when he finds kitty vomit in his shoes. He empathizes, though. He doesn’t love the change in plans either.

He scratches the kitten’s third eye, apologizing in a higher pitch. “It’s an emergency, Charlie. They _need_ me.”

If cats could roll their eyes, she would.

***

Despite the various scratching posts he’s purchased and the time he devotes to playing with her, Charlie has taken to clawing up the molding. Crouching down, Derek runs his fingers across the splintered wood and sighs. Well, if he ever had a shot of getting his safety deposit back, it’s gone now.

The grooves aren’t too deep and he wonders if it would be possible to sand it down and repaint. He’s always been pretty good with his hands; he might be able to work something out.

It’s not until he gets back from Home Depot that he realizes he may have gone a wee-bit overboard. All he really needed was a sander and painting supplies. He ends up hooking in his new reading light by his bed so that he won’t have to strain his eyes as much reading at night. The shelves he bought are a bit trickier, but he ends up securing them to the wall by the TV, figuring that once he starts buying DVDs and such, he’ll have a place for them.

The work on the trim isn’t too hard and it only takes a small chunk of the afternoon to finish up.

Charlie has nestled herself on one of the new shelves and is rubbing her head against the corner.

“You can’t stay there,” Derek informs her, watching as she rolls over on her back, barring her belly. “That’s where my film collection is going to go. Once I actually start collecting it.” The cat makes no effort to move.

Frowning, Derek heads back to Home Depot.

***

He ends up building what Stiles refers to as a Kitty Playground. But, it’s just, Charlie _loved_ the shelves so much, and it got him thinking about how easy it would be to set up perches all over the wall for her.

Derek covers each one in a thick fabric, both for Charlie’s comfort, and so she’ll have something to grip in case she starts to slip. He adds thin cords of rope to dangle down in places, for her to play with and sprinkles some catnip over a couple of the surfaces.

Hands on his hips, Derek admires his work. It’s a little _more_ than he’d planned, but, hey, if it makes Charlie happy, that’s one less thing to worry about.

And, besides, it was… nice working with his hands again, letting himself get absorbed in his work. In fact, it was actually (dare he say it?) _fun_.

Stiles makes a whipping sound the first time he sees the fruits of Derek’s labor. But then, somehow, a week later, Derek finds himself sitting across from one of Stiles’ neighbors – little, old Mrs. Jenkins – listening to her detail what she imagines her ideal kitty play area looking like, sipping tea and nodding along.

“Of course, we’re going to have to convert the entire room,” Mrs. Jenkins is saying. “Only the best for my little babies. More tea, Derek?”

He shakes his head, reaching down to pet Fluffer Nutter, and wonders how this became his life.

***

Word travels quickly. Derek finds himself sitting across from various kitty aficionados. Apparently, he has a reputation now.

He pretends to be indifferent, hiding the way his lips quirk upwards as he works.

***

“Dude, since when do you watch _Animal Planet_?” Stiles asks, flopping on Derek’s new couch. He still can’t believe the deal he got on it. Charlie is already marking it as her own, clawing into the side and leaving gouges in the leather. Derek makes a halfhearted attempt to stop her before he decides it’s not worth it.

He plants himself next to Stiles, listening as Scott putters around his kitchen for something to drink. It was nice of them, volunteering to help him move the couch in. Not that he necessarily needed it, but he supposes the company is… pleasant. Or something. “ _Animal Planet_ has some quality programing,” he answers warily. Charlie climbs into his lap, kneading as she teases out the most comfortable spot to sit.

“ _My Cat from Hell_?” Stiles reads off his DVR recording list. He eyes the kitten and shrugs. “Okay, fair.”

Derek glares, stroking his cat defensively. “Charlie is a specimen of perfection,” he argues, fully aware that he’s overselling it since said cat is currently digging her claws into his thigh.

Stiles gives him the side-eye, watching Charlie suspiciously. “Whatever you say, dude.”

Scott comes back with three glasses of orange juice and makes them clink their glasses to a “job well done.” Derek drinks most of his in one gulp, placing his glass on the side table he bought last week.

Beside him, the two teens are exchanging a look that Derek can’t place. “What?”

Scott opens his mouth, but Stiles just plods in. “It’s like you’re a real person now.”

Derek isn’t sure what to say to that, so he says nothing.

***

Slowly, Derek blinks at the cat. She watches him with an unimpressed expression. He does it again. And again. And again.

Derek’s most recent subscription – to a magazine called _Meows Monthly_ – informed him that slow-blinking is how cats say “ _I love you_ ,” so he figures it probably means the same if he does it to her.

When she finally reciprocates, he pumps his fist, allowing a small smile as he coos, “Who’s a good girl? I love you, too, Charlie-bear!”

From the threshold, he hears a cackle, and he jerks his head to see Peter bowed over, clutching at his chest.

Derek opens his mouth to say something, to ask him how long he’s been there, but Peter just raises a hand, shaking his head, and leaves.

Not sure what to do with that, Derek crosses the room and rubs Charlie’s belly, letting her gnaw on his thumb, like she’s wont to do.

***

“This is what you meant by plans?” Stiles barks, staring at the scene before him. He’s carelessly left the door gaping open. Again.

“Door,” Derek reminds him, not bothering to get up. Charlie’s ears go back and she snuggles further into Derek’s lap, glaring at the intruder.

“Right, sorry,” Stiles mumbles, fixing it. Derek rereads the sentence again, because Stiles has a knack for interrupting things, but he’s at the climax now, and he refuses to put down his book midsentence. “Wait, but seriously? This is your idea of big plans? _Really_?”

He can tell the teen isn’t going to leave, so he finishes his line and shuts the book. He hopes his expression can convey how disruptive he’s finding Stiles’ presence. “What do you want, Stiles?”

The teen’s mouth opens and shuts quickly and he licks his lips, shrugging. “I just… I mean, you haven’t been around a lot lately, you know?”

Derek isn’t really sure where this is going. “I’ve had plans.”

“With your cat,” Stiles supplies.

“Look,” Derek snaps impatiently, aggressively petting his kitten. “Did you just come here to judge me or is there an actual purpose to your visit?”

“I didn’t mean,” Stiles starts, sighing. “I’m not here to judge you. Well, no more so than I normally do. I just… I was hoping you’d come out with us tonight, is all.”

Derek isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to say to that, so he shrugs. “Sorry to disappoint.”

From where he’s been pacing, Stiles lets out a frustrated noise, pausing in his movements. “Really? That’s it? C’mon, I gave you that cat so you’d actually start digging in roots here, not so that you’d hermit in your loft playing crazy cat man!” The teen’s eyes widen as he realizes what he said. “Wait, backtracking, what I mean is…”

“You gave me Charlie so that I’d have a reason to stay in town?” Derek interrupts, ignoring the crazy-cat-man barb. His hands slow to a halt, resting in Charlie’s fur. “Why?”

Stiles’ mouth hangs open as he contemplates what to say. “It’s just,” he mutters, wringing his hands, “I didn’t want you to go away again, you know? I wanted you to have a reason to stay here, to stay with…” The teen gulps, the meaning of his silence obvious. _Me_ , is what he wants to say. “Us,” he continues. “I’ve… we’ve missed you, okay?”

He tries not to read too much into it, into the way Stiles’ heart is pounding, into the nervous tang in the air. His fingers burrow into Charlie’s fur, continuing in their previous motions. Stiles did this for him. Stiles gave him this cat… for _him_. So that he wouldn’t leave. Derek wasn’t just Stiles’ unwitting sap, someone to pawn a kitten off on; this move was premeditated, meant to give him roots, give him a home.

The thought makes something loosen in his chest, a weight he hadn’t been aware he was carrying.

He hadn’t realized how close to _happy_ he’s become, how nice things have been. How close to _normal_ his life has shifted.

And it’s all because of _Stiles_.

Derek and Charlie exchange a glance, because she’s his soul-kitty and somehow knows that he’s looking to her. Charlie’s face says _don’t you dare_ but her body language… well, it also says _don’t you dare_ , but, hey, he figures Stiles was the one who brought her into his life, so she can just suck it up.

“You could always just come here. When you miss me, that is.”

Stiles blinks at him. “What?”

Derek swallows. Charlie digs her claws in. “You can come over sometimes. I mean, if you want. I don’t care.”

At that, the corners of Stiles’ lips quirk up, his heart racing. “Is that an actual invitation?”

“Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, I’m making it a thing.”

Beside him, the bed dips as Stiles flops down beside him, flipping on the TV. The teen seems to relax for the first time since stepping foot into the loft.

Then he squints at the screen. “Spanish soap operas? Really?”

Derek shrugs, unable to withhold his smirk. “ _Si_.”

Rolling over on his side, Stiles gazes over at them, at Derek and his cat, with a soft smile on his lips.

“You were an excellent decision,” he coos at Charlie, reaching out a hand to pet her.

She bites him.

***

For Christmas, he receives a kitty harness and leash, with a note: _No more reasons to hermit, cat man_.

He isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

He starts training Charlie for it, regardless. 

**Author's Note:**

> If ya'll ever want to chat or whatevs, you can find me on tumblr @ skimthepuddles


End file.
